


as certain dark things are to be loved

by demonicneonfishy



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, I don't know how to tag this, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, The Author Regrets Nothing, the rest of the gang do show up but later, they don't have major roles tho, they don't know they're pining but they are!, this is a joe/nicky centric thing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:15:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28286820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demonicneonfishy/pseuds/demonicneonfishy
Summary: Here is the story.Yusuf al-Kaysani and Nicoló di Genova met in Jerusalem almost a millenium ago.They did not speak. They did not even know each other's names. They knew only that the other was an enemy.The first time, Yusuf slit Nicoló's throat. Nicoló stabbed Yusuf in the heart. They bled out in each other's arms.Then they woke, and killed each other again. And again. And again.They never really stopped fighting, after that.-au in which Joe and Nicky never stopped fighting each other.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 26
Kudos: 109





	1. United States, 2021

**Author's Note:**

> hello and welcome to whatever this is!  
> this was originally written as a prompt fill on tumblr with no intention of making it a long fic. oh how naive i was.  
> title from sonnet xvii from pablo neruda because i am a simple being. everybody say thank you marwan kenzari  
> enjoy!  
> [archive warning is just in case. i don't think there's anything super graphic, but there will be a lot of temporary deaths and some of them might get a little bloody]

Yusuf al-Kaysani, as a general rule, does not _like_ Nicoló di Genova. 

But he can’t deny that Nicoló - he’d started going by Nicky in the 1950s - is good at what he does. And they work annoyingly well together, he’s discovered, on the rare occasions when they’re not fighting each other. So when Andy had worried about going on missions again, with Booker gone, Andy mortal and Nile still trying to adjust, Joe had suggested asking Nicky to stay with them for a little longer.

Nicky had joined them in Goussainville, combining his yearly check-in with an opportunity to meet Nile. He’d greeted Joe by tackling him to the ground and holding a knife to his throat. Joe had returned the favour by slipping a non-lethal dose of poison into his food. The effects didn’t last long, but it was worth seeing the look on Nicky’s face when he’d figured it out. Joe had laughed so hard he almost fell out of his chair, and Nile had just stared at them both.

Then, Merrick had happened, and everything had gone to shit.

He was the one to ask Nicky to stay, joining him on the balcony of the safehouse they’d gone to after Merrick’s, both of them standing in surprisingly comfortable silence until Nicky had turned to Joe. 

“If you’re going to push me off the balcony,” he’d said, “maybe wait until you at least have the cover of darkness.”

Joe had debated doing just that, but shook his head instead. “We need you to stay. I know you don’t like it, but with Nile so new and Andy - well. It would be easier with you here.”

Nicky had thought about it for a moment, before giving Joe an infuriating smile. “It’s fine. I know how much you miss me when I’m gone.”

Joe _had_ nearly pushed him off the balcony for that.

The thing is, Nicky had stayed. And they’d established a temporary truce, only fighting each other to demonstrate certain techniques for Nile. Joe doesn’t want to admit it, but he almost _likes_ having Nicky around more often. 

He’s not going to tell Nicky about that, of course. Nicky would enjoy that far too much.

“You off in dreamland again?” Nicky’s voice behind him.

They’re making their way up the stairs, having cleared the floors below. The hostages should be on the top floor, if their information is correct. Joe’s still a little paranoid about that - this situation feels a little too familiar.

“Contrary to popular belief, you’re not that interesting to talk to.”

“Pay attention to the job, daydreamer.”

“You’re obviously paying more attention to me, so maybe worry about yourself.”

“I, unlike you, have the ability to multitask.”

If they weren’t busy, Joe would kick him. He settles for giving him the finger over his shoulder instead. 

They stop at the door, Joe on one side, Nicky on the other.

Nicky holds up three fingers, and Joe nods. 

_One._

_Two._

_Three._

* * *

Here is the story.

Yusuf al-Kaysani and Nicoló di Genova met in Jerusalem almost a millenium ago.

They did not speak. They did not even know each other's names. They knew only that the other was an enemy.

The first time, Yusuf slit Nicoló's throat. Nicoló stabbed Yusuf in the heart. They bled out in each other's arms.

Then they woke, and killed each other again. And again. And again.

They never really stopped fighting, after that.

* * *

Nicky really wishes jobs would go as they’re supposed to, for a change.

But the universe hates him, so of course there’s nobody in the room.

“No,” Joe whispers. “No, this can’t be happening. Not again.”

His breathing is rapid and shallow, his eyes wild as he looks around the room.

“Joe,” Nicky says. “Joe, listen to me. There’s something wrong. We need to contact the others.”

He thinks he knows what this is about. Andy had explained to him the mission before Goussainville - the one where they were set up and exposed. They’d been in a similar situation then.

“ _J_ _oe_ ,” he repeats. They don’t have time for this. “Come on.”

Five guards burst into the room, guns raised. “Hands in the air!”

Nicky waves at them before raising both his pistols and shooting two at once. The other three fire, and he takes at least three bullets before going down, clenching his teeth against the pain.

But the action seems to have snapped Joe out of it: he draws his scimitar and is upon the remaining three in seconds. Nicky lies back, letting his body heal, and watches him. 

Joe fighting is an incredible sight to see, when Nicky is watching instead of fighting him. He takes down two easily. The other gets behind him and lifts his gun to shoot Joe in the back, and - well. That’s not exactly fair. So Nicky lifts his arm and shoots the last guard in the head.

“Nice to see you decided to make yourself useful,” Joe says.

“Figured I’d step in to save your ass - again.”

“I could’ve handled it.”

“Sure. Help me up, would you.”

To Nicky’s surprise, Joe does - holding his hand out for Nicky to take. He pulls Nicky to his feet, and Nicky’s about to say something, but then a red flashing light catches his eye. 

A timer, reading _00:01._

Nicky has just enough time to push Joe out of the way before the bomb explodes and dive towards it in an attempt to take the brunt of the explosion. There’s a flash of light, a _boom_ , and then pain burning its way through every part of him.

Then the world goes dark.

* * *

_“-he’s healing?”_

_“-not waking up-”_

_“-large wounds take longer-”_

_“Andy, he’s_ not waking up _.”_

_“Nicoló, destati - please, Nicoló - don’t leave me behind-”_

* * *

Nicky gasps awake.

Immediately, he registers three things: he is in a bed, he is wearing different clothes, and Joe is sitting in the chair beside the bed, staring out the window. He turns when he hears Nicky wake, an expression of pure relief on his face.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, asshole,” Joe mutters, shifting in his seat.

“You look like shit,” Nicky says. It’s a complete lie. Joe is, in fact, infuriatingly beautiful, even when he’s covered in blood or looks like he hasn’t slept for three days. But that’s not something Joe needs to know.

“You should see yourself. You were in pieces when we brought you here.”

“Then at least I have an excuse. What’s yours?”

And just like that, they’re sniping at each other again. Except this time, there’s no malice behind it.

With a start, Nicky realises there hasn’t been true malice behind any of it - the arguing, the fighting, even the killing - for a long time now. When was the last time they killed each other? When was the last time they even severely injured each other?

 _God,_ when did they last even draw blood?

Oh, that’s right. Nicky remembers. 17th century, England. He’d been there to meet up with them for his yearly check-in - a measure Andy had insisted on after they lost Quynh, refusing to let Nicky leave them again unless he agreed to it - and had caught sight of Joe from across the bar they were in. He’d pulled his glove off and dropped it at Joe’s feet with a smile, and they’d duelled in the street outside. Nicky had won that one, slicing a thin line across Joe’s cheek. It had healed in seconds, but Nicky had won all the same.

Almost five centuries, without so much as drawing blood…

“You weren’t waking up, Nico,” Joe says softly, almost too softly for Nicky to hear. “You were healing, but you weren’t waking up. I thought you were gone.”

“Can’t get rid of me that easily,” Nicky tries to joke, but Joe doesn’t crack a smile, or even seem mildly annoyed, which means he’s really upset.

“You didn’t need to do that. You could have gotten away from the blast, but you pushed me away instead. Why?”

Nicky is about to make a joke of it, the way he always does when the subject matter cuts a little too close to home, but Joe gives him a look that suggests he’s not having it.

“Don’t bullshit me, Nico.”

“I don’t know,” Nicky admits. “Instinct, I suppose.”

Why his instinct is to protect Joe is a question he’ll ask himself later.

“That was stupid of you,” Joe says. “And unnecessary. And you could have avoided it.”

“I wasn’t going to just let it hit you, was I?”

“And so you let yourself get blown to pieces for me, unnecessarily, for what? To save me a little pain?”

Now that Nicky thinks about it, that’s exactly the reason. 

_Oh dear._

“I came back, didn’t I?”

“And that makes it okay?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You almost didn’t. You could have died. You don’t get to die for me, okay?”

Nicky would, is the problem. He’d go willingly if it meant saving Joe.

_Oh, shit._

Joe gets up. “I’m going to go tell Andy you’re awake.”

“Get me some water, would you?” Nicky calls after him, because he’s really not sure what else to do.

Nicky lies back and stares at the ceiling. 

He can’t remember how long it’s been since he stopped actively hating Joe. They’ve killed each other too many times to count, injured each other more than that, but he’s not sure how much of it is actual hatred anymore. It’s almost friendly, in some bizarre, twisted way.

Oh, well. He’ll worry about that another day.


	2. Jerusalem, 1099

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe he is not in heaven or hell yet. Maybe he has been given one more chance, to finish the man before him.
> 
> Nicoló raises his sword.  
> -  
> Yusuf and Nicoló meet - and kill each other - for the first time.

The first time Yusuf sees Nicoló, he is covered in blood.

They both are. Yusuf isn’t quite sure how he’s still alive. He’s come close, numerous times; he’s seen so many others meet their deaths; he’s  _ tired _ .

He sees another Frank charging towards him, and braces himself. Maybe this is where he dies. It feels like a miracle that he hasn’t yet.

He raises his blade to meet the invader’s swing, and the clash of their swords rings out among the sounds of battle around them. Yusuf catches a glimpse of the man’s eyes - pale, filled with hatred.

The invader stumbles back, muttering something in his own language, and then charges again. This time, Yusuf manages to get around his guard and in one quick motion slashes a bloody arc across the invader’s throat.

The invader’s eyes go wide, and he makes a horrible choking sound as he falls to his knees. Yusuf, foolishly, lets his blade drop for just a moment.

It is the last mistake he ever makes. There is a moment of blinding, burning pain, as the other man uses the last of his strength to bury his sword in Yusuf’s chest.

He looks down at it with something like surprise. The light in the other’s eyes is already fading as Yusuf falls to his knees.

Their blood mixes together as Yusuf takes his last breath.

* * *

Nicoló does not want to be here.

He knows  _ why  _ he is here, in some sense, but he’s no longer the person he was when they left Genoa. They have been fighting for days, and he doesn’t feel the drive he’d had on the way here. He’d heard stories of battles, of course, but none of them came close to the real thing.

For one, he hadn’t realised quite how much a person could bleed before.

He wants to go home, but there is nothing he can do. So he continues to fight, and prays for this hell  to be over soon.

The man that kills him is no different from the others. Aside from, well, the fact that he is the one to finally kill Nicoló.

Nicoló is the first to attack: he charges at the man with his sword raised, and the other lifts his blade to meet it. The force of the collision sends Nicoló stumbling back, and he charges again. He is not a graceful swordsman. Just a man with a blade who wishes he could return home.

And herein lies his downfall: he leaves an opening, the smallest of weaknesses in his guard, and the other man sees it. It happens almost before he even realises what’s going on. The other man’s sword slashes through the air, and then Nicoló is choking on his own blood. He sinks to his knees.

The other man lets his blade drop, and Nicoló has one chance - he can kill the man who killed him. He uses the very last of his strength to lift his sword and drive it through the other man’s chest. The other sinks to his knees as Nicoló’s vision fades.

They bleed out together.

* * *

_ An arrow arcs through the air. _

_ A woman with an axe carves through legions like it’s nothing. _

_ Another draws her bow and fires another arrow. _

_ They stand back to back, surrounded, and the one with the axe simply smiles. _

Nicoló gasps awake.

His hand moves to his throat almost of its own accord. He finds only dried blood, the skin beneath intact. He is dead, he must be.

Heaven, then? Or hell? He looks around, and sees the battlefield - but it’s night. The field is empty, save for the dead. Surely, this cannot be heaven.

But he’d been promised. Fight for the Holy Land, and your sins will be forgiven.

Maybe he had not fought hard enough. Maybe he was not as dedicated as he should have been.

Then, the impossible happens again. The other man, the one who had killed him, the one he had killed, breathes.

Nicoló leaps to his feet with a cry and steps back. But he does not run. Instead, he watches as the other man presses a hand to his chest, where Nicoló had stabbed him, and then rises.

He catches sight of Nicoló, and freezes.

Maybe he is not in heaven or hell yet. Maybe he has been given one more chance, to finish the man before him.

Nicoló raises his sword.

* * *

It lasts for what feels like forever. 

_ They kill each other. They die together. They wake. They fight. _

In some twisted way, Yusuf thinks, it is almost like a dance, one of blood and death.

It becomes apparent after a while that nothing he can do will keep this invader dead. And he does not seem to die either. It is like nothing he has ever heard tell of before. Even the slightest cuts vanish in seconds. Around them, the battle rages on, but they barely notice, each of them focused solely on the other.

_ They kill each other. They die together. They wake. They fight. _

Yusuf wonders if this means he will live forever. Or he will finally kill the Frank and thus be freed from… whatever this is.

It is night again. He has died so many times now, too many to count. He has woken first this time, and is sitting only a few feet away from the other, waiting for him to wake. It is only fair.

As if summoned by Yusuf’s thoughts, the other man’s eyes open, but he doesn’t sit up straight away. His eyes are mesmerising.

“Greek?” Yusuf asks, almost without meaning to. He realises, surprising himself, that he wants to know the other’s name.

The other does not respond, but he looks at Yusuf as if he understands.

Yusuf points to himself. “My name. Yusuf.” His Greek isn’t perfect, but it’s passable.

Enough time passes in silence that he wonders if he was wrong. Maybe the other does not understand. But then he points to himself. “Nicoló.”

“Nicoló,” Yusuf repeats, trying to mimic the other - Nicoló’s pronunciation. 

“Yusuf,” Nicoló says. Yusuf almost flinches at the sound.

For a moment, he wonders if they are done. But then Nicoló sits up, and reaches for his sword.

_ They kill each other. They die together. They wake. They fight. _

* * *

The city falls. 

And Nicoló should be celebrating with the rest of them. But he isn't.

He kills Yusuf again, and runs. It is the coward’s way out, perhaps, but evidently neither of them can die. And Nicoló is tired. So he runs.

He is met with fear and distrust from his fellow soldiers, some of which claimed to have seen him die and return to life. They aren’t mistaken, but he hears the whispers behind his back.

_ Demon. Cursed. Monster _ .

Part of Nicoló wonders if they are right.

Two of them corner him, one night, away from the rest of them. Nicoló does not remember either of their names. He has been drifting, untethered, since Jerusalem fell, barely responding when his name is spoken.

“Are the tales true?” one asks - a man with brown hair and green eyes. 

Nicoló continues walking and tries to ignore him.

“Only one way to find out,” the other says. 

There is a click, a woosh, and a spike of pain between his shoulder blades. The next thing he knows, he is lying in the dust, surrounded by both of them.

“It is true,” the green-eyed one says. 

“ _ Demon _ ,” the other hisses, and reaches for his blade.

Nicoló rolls out of the way of his swing, and scrambles back, getting to his feet as quickly as possible.

“Please,” he says. “I do not wish to hurt you.”

The green-eyed one laughs.

Nicoló draws his blade. 

They die quickly. Nicoló knows he cannot return, not after this. But where to go? There is nobody who will believe him if he tells them, nobody who will understand if he shows them.

Nobody, except the person he  _ really _ does not want to turn to.

* * *

Nicoló finds Yusuf a little way away from the city, just staring into the distance, seemingly lost in thought.

“Yusuf,” he says.

Yusuf turns around, startled, and stabs him. It’s almost comedic, Nicoló thinks as he dies. Yusuf’s eyes are the last thing he sees.

When Nicoló wakes, Yusuf is once again lost in thought. Instinctively, he reaches for his sword, but doesn’t find it.

He sits up. His sword is resting beside Yusuf.

“Why are you here?” Yusuf asks in Greek. Nicoló’s Greek is barely passable, but he understands enough.

“I do not die.”

Yusuf laughs. “Evidently.”

“We are the same.”

Yusuf sighs. “What do you want?”

“I want to leave.”

“Then why not go with your people?”

“They know.”

Yusuf’s eyes widen as he looks at Nicoló. “They killed you?”

“Yes.” A beat. “I have nowhere else.”

It’s not the best phrasing. 

Yusuf stares at him for a long time. Nicoló half expects him to stab him again and leave. It’s what Nicoló would do.

Yusuf stands and offers him his hand. “Peace for now, then.”

Nicoló takes it. “For now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am... not sure how i feel about this chapter. they don't really know each other at this point so it's a little different to last chapter. anyway, here it is!


	3. Jerusalem - Alexandria, 1099 - 1100

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yusuf could have easily left him to die over and over again. Maybe that would finally kill him, eventually. Nicoló would have done it.
> 
> Yusuf turns to look at him. He is, Nicoló thinks, a good man.
> 
> Far better than Nicoló knows how to be.  
> -  
> Yusuf and Nicoló travel to Alexandria.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wanted to update this a little earlier than planned because it's the six month anniversary and i am nothing if not inconsistent with my chapter updates. warning: this is probably very historically inaccurate.

Yusuf does not know why he decided to help Nicoló. 

Insanity, maybe. Then again, if Nicoló is with him, he can’t do any harm to anyone else. They are travelling together, and they have established some kind of peace, but Yusuf does not trust him.

At least they no longer kill each other.

Nicoló is met with distrust and fear everywhere they stop. They had both sold their swords in favour of food and different clothes, but his accent is enough to make the people they encounter wary. More often than not, they are turned away and forced to sleep under the stars. Yusuf is beginning to wish he’d just left Nicoló in Jerusalem.

He thinks of home often, of his family, and can only hope they are well. He misses them so much it hurts, but he knows he can never return. Sometimes, he lets himself wonder, but he always remembers the blood staining the back of Nicoló’s tunic and his admission of “They know.” If he cannot die, it is possible he cannot age. And what happens when people notice?

No, it is better to let them think he has died in Jerusalem and save them - and himself - the pain. He will worry about what this immortality means for him later. 

The other issue is the dreams. Since his first death, he has dreamed of the same two women every night - he sees them fight, he sees them die, he sees them rise again. He cannot tell if they are real and like him, or a figment of his imagination. His mother always said he was a dreamer.

Nicoló walks a few feet ahead of him. He does not speak to Yusuf much, but mutters to himself in his own language. Maybe he is going mad.

Maybe they both are.

* * *

“Where is home?” Yusuf asks in Greek.

Nicoló, sitting across the fire from him, mending a hole in his shirt, startles. “What?”

“You wish to leave, no? Where are you going?”

Nicoló returns to his work. “I don’t understand why it matters. You said you would go to the coast and no further.”

He should have known better than to try and start a conversation. He picks up a stick and busies himself with scratching shapes and patterns into the dirt.

They sit in surprisingly comfortable silence for a long while, Nicoló stitching and Yusuf doodling in the dirt, until Nicoló says, “Genoa.”

“What?”

“You asked where home was.” Nicoló does not look at him, still focused on the task before him. “Genoa.”

“That is where you return?”

“I hope so. What about you?”

“Mahdia.” 

“Will you return there?”

“No.”

At that, Nicoló looks up, surprised. “Why not?”

“It is too dangerous,” Yusuf explains. “If what I am is discovered.”

“You think people would hurt you?”

“I think they would try.”

After that, neither of them speak for a long while. Nicoló volunteers to take first watch, and Yusuf lets him, knowing that even if Nicoló kills him in his sleep, it will not stick.

* * *

There are bandits. Because Nicoló is just lucky like that.

He is the first awake, leaping to his feet and reaching for his crossbow. Under his breath, he curses Yusuf for convincing him to sell his sword. And himself, for being convinced.

There are three of them. Nicoló manages to shoot one in the heart before another drives a blade through his chest, and he knows no more.

He gasps awake to hear Yusuf shouting, but something is wrong: the pain is still there, sharp and agonising. He tries to breathe, and feels steel in his chest.

Yusuf slices through one of the bandits’ throats, and Nicoló dies again.

He wakes, and all three bandits are dead, and Yusuf is kneeling beside him. If Nicoló could speak, he would beg for help, but all he can manage is lifting his hand weakly to reach out to Yusuf.

Yusuf seems to understand. He reaches out, takes hold of the hilt of the blade in Nicoló’s chest, and pulls.

The pain is blinding. He cries out and dies again.

This time when he wakes, the pain is fading, and he can feel the wound closing. Yusuf has wandered away, and Nicoló catches sight of him stood at the edge of their camp, only just illuminated by the firelight. 

He sits up, pressing a hand against his chest. It comes away red, but the wound itself is gone.

“Thank you,” he says. He means it. 

Yusuf could have easily left him to die over and over again. Maybe that would finally kill him, eventually. Nicoló would have done it.

Yusuf turns to look at him. He is, Nicoló thinks, a good man.

Far better than Nicoló knows how to be.

* * *

Nicoló has his chance to repay Yusuf later.

He had gone into town that day, telling Nicoló in no uncertain terms to stay in the camp, or Yusuf will personally kill him. Nicoló had just rolled his eyes and said he wasn’t going anywhere.

And he hadn’t. He hasn’t been properly alone for a while now, and the peace and quiet is nice.

Until it starts getting dark and Yusuf hasn’t returned. He’d said he’d be back by sundown.

Nicoló waits a little longer. Still nothing.

He thinks about leaving. Maybe Yusuf had decided to leave him. It’s not unbelievable. 

And yet… Yusuf had promised they’d make it to the sea, hadn’t he? Why bring Nicoló this far, if he just planned to leave him? Why help him at all?

No, there must be something wrong. But if they cannot die, Yusuf will be okay. Nicoló just has to wait.

Then he remembers the knife in his heart, dying over and over again, unable to pull the blade out. He thinks about Yusuf, pulling it out despite having an easy opportunity to leave him to suffer. What if something similar had happened to Yusuf? Worse, what if someone had  _ found out _ what he was? What if he told them about Nicoló?

There is only one path forward, he thinks. This way, he secures his way home, ensures his own safety, and erases his debt to Yusuf.

Nicoló begins to walk toward town.

* * *

There are few people in the streets when he arrives. He has no idea where to start. He asks a few people if they have seen him, but he struggles to communicate and what he does learn is vague.

Then he hears someone nearby say  _ demon _ .

_ Demon. Cursed. Monster. _

He listens. 

“Demon? How do you know?”

“When you cut it, it heals in seconds.”

_ Yusuf. _

So something  _ had  _ happened.

“Where is it?” Nicoló cuts in. “This demon?”

“Why do you wish to know?”

“I want to see it for myself.”

The speaker looks at his companion. “A stable, just outside town, I think. They were trying to kill it, last I heard.”

They won’t be able to, Nicoló thinks to himself. He’s tried.

“Thank you,” Nicoló says before hurrying away.

Sure enough, there are three people in the stable when he arrives. Two standing over a figure on the ground. Nicoló fells them one with his crossbow and the other meets the same fate before he can even shout in surprise. He runs inside. 

Yusuf’s hands and feet are bound. There is blood on his face, on his shirt, everywhere. His eyes go wide when he sees Nicoló.

Nicoló kneels in front of him and begins to untie the ropes holding his wrists and ankles together.

“What are you doing here?” Yusuf asks.

“Coming after  _ you _ . You’d rather I let them keep killing you?”

“No, but…”

“My debt is repaid,” Nicoló says, undoing the last knot and stepping back. 

Yusuf stands up, massaging his wrists. 

“Thank you, Nicoló,” Yusuf says. It almost sounds sincere.

Nicoló turns and walks away without looking back. But he can hear Yusuf following him.

* * *

Finally, they arrive in Alexandria, and Yusuf is almost reluctant to leave Nicoló. Not because he  _ likes  _ him, because he really doesn’t, but because after Nicoló leaves, he won’t know what to do with himself. However much he might despise Nicoló, he can’t deny that travelling with the other man gave him a purpose at least, and a distraction from the impending weight of his apparent immortality.

He’s not sure what he’s going to do after this.

“I found a ship,” Nicoló says one night. 

“Oh?” Yusuf feigns disinterest. He does care, but Nicoló doesn’t need to know that.

“It leaves in a week.”

Yusuf nods, and turns back to slicing vegetables, his hands shaking a little. If Nicoló notices, he doesn’t say anything. 

There’s no reason Yusuf won’t see Nicoló again. Not that he wants to. But Nicoló is the only other person like him in the whole world that he knows of, and he really, really doesn’t want to be alone. Maybe they’ll meet each other again, ten, twenty, fifty years from now. Maybe they won’t. Maybe Yusuf will find the women from his dreams, the ones he’s certain are like him. Maybe they’ll be like family. He can only hope.

He and Nicoló eat in silence, the way they always have, and Yusuf can’t help glancing at him and then looking away whenever Nicoló looks up. 

The week passes too quickly, and then Yusuf is standing on the threshold of being alone for who-knows-how long.

“Have I done something to offend you?” Nicoló demands on the day he is to leave.

“Nothing aside from the usual,” Yusuf retorts. He turns away, but Nicoló grabs his arm and turns him forcefully to face him. 

“Tell me what is going on.”

“Let  _ go _ of me,” Yusuf snaps.

Surprisingly, Nicoló does.

“Now tell me what is going on.”

“You and I are the same,” Yusuf begins. “We do not die.”

“I know.”

“We are the only ones.”

Confusion flickers in Nicoló’s eyes. “We are.”

“Then maybe we should…” He struggles to find the right words. “Maybe you should stay.”

Nicoló steps back and looks away. “I cannot.”

“What is left for you?” Yusuf asks. “When you go home, what do you expect to find? You cannot  _ die _ , Nicoló, and they will find out. You of all people should be wary of that.”

“What, you’re not glad to be rid of me?”

“I just think that we should try and figure out what’s happening to us, or- or find the others like us.”

“What others?” Nicoló asks.

“The women. I dream…” He trails off, realising how ridiculous he sounds. 

But Nicoló looks up, sharply. “What women?”

“One of them is tall and wields an axe-”

“The other is shorter and skilled with the bow,” Nicoló finishes. 

“You dream of them too.” Yusuf can’t quite believe it. 

“Since I died the first time.”

“This is- it’s all the more reason for us to stay together.” Yusuf is more certain than ever that this is supposed to happen somehow: that they are meant to find each other.

“I cannot, Yusuf.” 

“You can’t deny that this must be happening for a reason. We’re not supposed to be alone.” He offers his hand. “We need to find them. Maybe they will have answers.”

_ (In another time, another life, another Nicoló nods. He takes Yusuf’s hand. They do not separate again, not for years. Centuries. _

_ This is where it begins. _

_ But this is not that Nicoló.) _

Yusuf is too vulnerable, too trusting. He has let his guard down. He doesn’t see the knife.

Until it’s buried to the hilt in his chest.

He chokes, pitching forward into Nicoló’s arms. Nicoló lowers him to the ground, almost apologetic as he does so. 

“I cannot,” he whispers, and Yusuf knows no more.

* * *

He wakes. He dies. The knife is buried in his heart, and he cannot heal around it. He wakes. He dies.

* * *

When he finally manages to pull the knife from his heart, it is dark outside, and Nicoló is long gone. Yusuf lies there in a pool of his own blood as the wound heals, staring up at the ceiling.

He sits up and curses Nicoló, curses himself for not seeing the knife, shouts until his throat hurts. He throws the knife across the room and it buries itself in the wall.

He was stupid. He let his guard down. He let himself  _ trust  _ Nicoló, when he shouldn’t have.

He will not make that mistake again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have conflicted feelings about this chapter, but here you go.  
> so this is where we begin to diverge from canon in my mind: the moment where yusuf asks nicolo to stay is really where the timeline splits. before now, it's been mostly canon compliant. the reason i think that they don't stop fighting in this au is because nicolo leaves and they don't spend as much time together and therefore don't get to know each other the way they're really supposed to. i don't know if this is interesting but i thought it was a fun detail.


	4. Jerusalem, 1191

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He returns to Jerusalem. And if there is another reason, he does not allow himself to think about it.  
> -  
> A century after their first meeting, Nicoló and Yusuf return to Jerusalem.

Yusuf travels. He tries to find the women from his dreams, and yet does not succeed. They are far away, travelling through unfamiliar lands. And so, he sees the world, never lingering in one place for long, always, always alone.

A century passes. 

He toys with the idea of travelling to Genoa but decides against it. Nicoló had made his decision, and it is not Yusuf’s place to try and find him again. 

But then he hears that the Franks are returning, to try and take Jerusalem again. He debates staying away, for a moment, but he knows his mind is already made up.

He returns to Jerusalem. And if there is another reason, he does not allow himself to think about it.

On the fourth day of fighting, he sees a familiar face and thinks  _ No, it can’t be _ . But the face disappears into the sea of bodies, and he refuses to think on it further.

The day after that, he comes across a group of three Franks, surrounding a woman, who is hiding behind-

_ Nicoló. _

Yusuf draws his scimitar without a thought and swiftly dispatches the man closest to him. Nicoló looks just as shocked to see him, but they do not have time to speak. Together, they finish off the other two, and Yusuf tries not to think about how easy it is to fall into step with Nicoló, how he knows where the other man will be without looking.

“Come with me,” he tells the woman. “Please. I can help you get away from here.”

She nods.

He feels Nicoló’s eyes burning into his back as they walk away.

The next time he sees Nicoló, he has barely a moment to approach him or to say something.  Nicoló lifts his hand in greeting, lifts his crossbow in the same movement, and shoots Yusuf through the heart.

* * *

He wakes in a room he does not recognise, the wound in his chest knitting itself back together with every breath he takes. Nicoló is sitting in a chair by the door, cleaning his sword as he watches Yusuf.

“You’re awake,” Nicoló says.

“It would seem so,” Yusuf says drily. “Where are we?”

Nicoló shrugs. “Empty house.”

“Was it that way when you found it?”

Nicoló shoots him a look. “Yes.”

Yusuf sits up, wincing slightly as his wound finishes healing. “Why did you bring me here?”

“I don’t know.” Nicoló sets aside his sword. “Maybe I wanted to speak to you.”

“So you shot me in the heart.”

Nicoló folds his arms defensively. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“Right.”

There’s a moment of vaguely uncomfortable silence, before Yusuf speaks just to break it.

“Did you return to your home?”

A shadow crosses Nicoló’s face, and he looks down at his hands. “Yes.” 

Something about his tone tells Yusuf not to push the subject.

“And you came back here because… what? Once wasn’t enough? What your people did in Jerusalem before wasn’t enough?”

Nicoló looks up, sharply. “No! No, I… I am trying to help. As much as I can. I had a lot of time to think.”

So did Yusuf. “And are you going to leave like a normal person, or are you going to stab me in the heart again?” Yusuf snaps.

Nicoló flinches, and Yusuf feels a vicious kind of satisfaction. 

“You could have just gone. I wouldn’t have stopped you. It took me  _ hours _ to get the knife out.”

Nicoló looks at him for a long moment, then looks away. “I can’t remember  _ why _ I wanted to talk to  _ you _ .”

Yusuf gets up. “Are you going to let me leave, or are you just going to stab me again?”

Nicoló makes no move to stop him as he walks out, just watches him leave.

The next time Yusuf sees him, he slits Nicoló’s throat. The time after that, Nicoló stabs him in the stomach. The time after that, they die within seconds of each other, collapsing into the dirt together. 

And when the fighting ends, Yusuf looks for him on the battlefield. He’s not entirely sure why. But Nicoló is gone, and Yusuf is, again, alone.

* * *

Returning home had been a mistake. Yusuf was right, but Nicoló tries not to think about that.

He tries not to think about Yusuf, too, but that’s easier said than done. Sometimes, Nicoló finds himself unable to think of anything  _ else _ \- Yusuf’s eyes in the firelight, Yusuf pulling the blade from Nicoló’s heart, Yusuf’s look of shock when Nicoló stabbed him. 

When he arrives home, heart in his throat, he asks for his sister, Maria - he has so much to tell her - and is told she is dead, and the ground drops out from under his feet.

_ Fever, _ they tell him.  _ It happened so quickly _ . He barely hears them.

He walks away and doesn’t look back.

He wanders for a century, drifting from place to place. He still dreams of the two women, but never of Yusuf.

Then there is talk of another attempt to take the Holy Land. He cannot, in good conscience, follow blindly the way he had before, not after what he had seen when Jerusalem fell the first time. But perhaps he can prevent a similar thing from happening again. 

Nicoló already knows what he will do. 

He travels to the Holy Land, goes where they tell him to, but he does not fight unless he has to. He finds innocent people caught in the fray and does his best to get them to safety, defends them against those who try to hurt them. 

Then, he comes across a group of three soldiers surrounding a woman in an alley. He moves to stand in front of her without a second thought, drawing his sword.

And then- Yusuf.

He looks exactly the same as the last day Nicoló had seen him. Yusuf reaches for his scimitar and kills the man closest to him in a few swift movements. They fall into step like they’ve been fighting together for years, and Nicoló can’t help enjoying it a little.

Yusuf says something to the woman, who nods. They walk away, and Nicoló has to trust that he won’t hurt her. For some, inexplicable reason, he does.

He watches Yusuf leave, and part of him can’t quite believe that this is real. That Yusuf is  _ here _ , in front of him, after so many years.

He has to speak to him.

* * *

Perhaps shooting Yusuf through the heart had not been the best idea, but Nicoló had not been sure what else to do.

He sets Yusuf down in the bed as carefully as he can and pulls out the crossbow bolt, then sits back in the chair to wait, picking up his sword as he does so. He might as well clean his blade, while he waits for Yusuf to wake.

He waits. And waits. And waits. 

And Yusuf does not wake. 

This cannot be right. Surely. They cannot die, Yusuf cannot be-

Yusuf takes a breath, and Nicoló relaxes, ever so slightly. 

“You’re awake,” he says.

“It would seem so,” Yusuf responds. “Where are we?”

He shrugs. “Empty house.”

“Was it that way when you found it?”

Nicoló can’t blame him for thinking it. “Yes,” he says, and tries not to sound too indignant.

Slowly, Yusuf sits up in the bed, wincing. “Why did you bring me here?”

Truthfully, Nicoló isn’t quite sure. “I don’t know. Maybe I wanted to speak to you.” Maybe he just wanted confirmation that Yusuf was real.

“So you shot me in the heart.”

So maybe that  _ definitely _ hadn’t been the best idea. “It worked, didn’t it?” Nicoló says, folding his arms. 

“Right.” Yusuf doesn’t sound convinced. 

Silence fills, and Nicoló does not know how to fill it. This had been a bad idea.

“Did you return to your home?” Yusuf asks. It’s an innocent question, and after all, Nicoló had killed him to return home.

And yet, all he can think of is the moment they told him Maria was dead. Maria, who had cried the day he left, begging him to come home safely. He’d told her he would, if only to see her smile.

And he had. But he had been too late. He looks down at his hands. “Yes,” he says quietly, and Yusuf does not ask further questions.

“And you came back here because… what? Once wasn’t enough? What your people did in Jerusalem before wasn’t enough?”

“No!” Nicoló says, looking up. “No, I… I am trying to help. As much as I can. I had a lot of time to think.” About the blood, how much there had been, how he had helped cause that, how he could not let it happen again without doing  _ something _ to try and stop it. 

“And are you going to leave like a normal person, or are you going to stab me in the heart again?” Yusuf says venomously, and Nicoló flinches. Yusuf has every right to be angry. Nicoló has, more than once, wishes he could undo it, but he cannot.

Perhaps, if he had stayed, they could have been friends. Now, he is not sure if he can fix what he has broken between them.

“You could have just gone. I wouldn’t have stopped you. It took me  _ hours _ to get the knife out.”

He looks away, and defends himself the only way he knows how. “I can’t remember  _ why _ I wanted to talk to  _ you _ ,” he mutters.

Yusuf stands up. “Are you going to let me leave, or are you just going to stab me again?”

Nicoló deserves that. All he can do is watch in silence as Yusuf walks away.

They return to killing each other. Again, and again, and again. It’s a horrible kind of familiarity. There are rules, not ones they speak into existence, but rules they abide by all the same. They wait for the other to wake before beginning again. They even wait for the other to be ready. They always, always pull the weapon out if necessary to allow the other to heal.

They do not speak, not anymore.

_ They kill each other. They die together. They wake. They fight. _

And when the fighting ends, when it is time for him to leave, Nicoló goes and does not look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and we're back!   
> next chapter: andy and quynh!  
> -  
> i'm demonicneonfishy on tumblr too if you wanna come say hi!!

**Author's Note:**

> i don't really have a plan or overall plot for this. if there's any scenarios you'd like to see, or any particular points in the relationship, or any ways you think they could have killed each other, or really just anything, feel free to let me know!  
> -  
> i'm demonicneonfishy on tumblr too!


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